Seeking Fuller Life and Spirit in the New Year

My spiritual director, Sr. Micaela Randolph, recently gave me some very helpful reading material: the chapter entitled “A Spirituality of the Paschal Mystery” from Ronald Rolheiser’s book The Holy Longing. In this chapter, Rolheiser speaks of how “in order to come to fuller life and spirit, we must constantly be letting go of present life and spirit.” It is a great art to let go of what is known and safe and move into the new with an open heart. Seeing others practice this art can be a source of encouragement to us.

In my own family, I have been inspired by the example of my Aunt Jane, who, after becoming widowed and at the age of 90 years, graciously left her house of 54 years and her church community to move across the state to an assisted living facility near the town where her daughter lives. She was able to look forward to a fuller life and spirit that included spending more time with several of her grandchildren, relinquishing worrisome house maintenance, and having someone else cook her meals for the first time since her childhood.

No matter how old we are, we are invited to enter into the paschal mystery of transformation that includes suffering and death and the reception of both new life and new spirit. Anticipating the start of a new year is a good time to nudge ourselves to cease clinging to what has been so we can receive a new spirit for the life we are now living. Most recently for me, this took the form of giving the car I used in my pre-Mount life to my nephew, who himself is engaged in the paschal mystery of leaving his current job and community to seek a fuller life elsewhere. As a new year begins, may we all support each other no matter where we are in our stages of transformation.

Saying Farewell to My Car

When I joined the Mount I entered into a new life, which has required letting go of my old life. However, that letting go is a process, and I’ve reached another important milestone, because tomorrow I’m handing off my car to my nephew.

I have had my own car since I graduated from college in 1984. My dad helped me pick out every car I’ve owned, including the current one, which I bought in 2002, the year before he died of cancer. Thus, in addition to being a symbol of independence and freedom, my car is a connection to my father that I now need to relinquish. Thirteen years after his death, the grieving continues. Yet it is good to grieve, so I can embrace the fullness of life of a woman whose father has died, and who now lives in a community where the expenses, responsibilities, and privileges associated with car ownership are shared.

As with everything I’ve let go of thus far in my transition to the Mount, I have found that it helps to be grateful for how my material goods have blessed me, and pray that they may now be a blessing to others. My 2000 Toyota Corolla has been a dependable companion through my years at Shantivanam, Lawrence, and Leavenworth, and during that time it carried me safely on innumerable trips to my home away from home, St. Louis. Although the odometer now stands at around 168,000 miles, I hope it will continue to serve my nephew well in Elkhart, Indiana, and wherever his path may lead. 

The Greatest Force the World Possesses

Sometimes when a child is born, we look in its eyes and say that it must be an “old soul” because of the wisdom we see there. Imagine what it would have been like to look into the eyes of the infant Jesus, the oldest soul of all, who was with God from the beginning of time!

Christ came to us as a human so we might know God, and yet, by becoming human, it stands to reason that Christ came to know us more intimately as well. Now he knew what it felt like to be human, to be pushed out of a warm womb into a cold world, to be hungry, to be soothed by a mother’s lullaby. The fact that we have a God who knows what it is like to feel pain and betrayal, as well as friendship and tenderness, binds us together more closely than in our former relationship of Creator and created.

By taking on our flesh, Christ proved what Gandhi observed: “Love is the strongest force the world possesses, and yet it is the humblest imaginable.” In the midst of the great challenges of our day, we need to follow the example of our God and counter intolerance, greed, and indifference with humble acts of love, trusting in the one force that cannot be overcome.

The Work of Christmas

We think of Advent as a time when we prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus and wait for his second coming. He said he would return, after all…what’s taking him so long? Someone once suggested to me that we are still waiting because God is merciful and thus is giving us every opportunity to repent of our self-centered ways and choose instead to participate in the life of God. Thus it is not just we who are waiting for God, but God who is waiting for us!

In his book “Praying the Truth,” William Barry says, “God humbly waits for us to pay attention; God is looking at us, waiting for us to look back.” All our preparations for Christmas—practicing music and readings for our liturgies, decorating, cooking—are really tools to help us to pay attention to God, who is already in our midst and asks us to participate in the work of the Messiah. In the words of Howard Thurman, this is the work of Christmas:

To find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.

Let’s not keep God waiting. We have work to do.

The Best Season of Your Life

Today is the winter solstice, which brings us the longest night of the year and the beginning of the winter season. Many people view winter as an inconvenient stepping stone to spring, including the poet Percy Bysshe Shelly, who asked, “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” In their view, the elimination of winter would improve our lives. However, it is important to attend to the wisdom of the Taoist tradition, which holds that the world in all its mystery and difficulty cannot be improved upon, only experienced. Consider the following meditation by Japanese monk Wumen Huikai:

Ten thousand flowers in spring,

the moon in autumn,

a cool breeze in summer,

snow in winter. 

If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.

Wishing it were spring is certainly one of the unnecessary things that keeps winter from being the best season of our lives. God gives us winter for a reason, as noted by Christine Valters Paintner: “The God of winter invites me into a healing rhythm of rest and renewal, of deep listening in the midst of stillness, of trusting the seeds sprouting deep within that have been planted.”

After the winter solstice, we in the Northern hemisphere will start having a bit more light at the end of each day, and thus it is a particularly appropriate time to celebrate the birth of Christ, the Light of the World. However, after the Christmas festivities have come to an end, I look forward to enjoying God’s gift of this season of rest and renewal, of deep listening in the midst of winter stillness.

Viewing Christmas Cards With the Eyes of Advent

Every year I put off writing my Christmas cards because it seems like such a formidable task. The more life history I acquire, the longer my Christmas card list grows; it now includes family, friends from school days and numerous former workplaces, Shantivanam colleagues, friends from my former parish community in St. Louis, and several inmates who were once part of the Bethany group at Lansing Correctional Facility.

When I view Christmas cards with the eyes of Advent, however, they become more than a task to be checked off a list. Sending Christmas greetings is one way Christ “leads us to one another,” as we sang at mass this morning. It provides an opportunity to rejoice in the many companions who have walked with me throughout my life and to hold in prayer those I need to cross off my list because they died in the past year. It also provides an excuse to slow down in these often hectic days of preparation and reflect on the happenings of the past year as I write notes in my cards. Given the events of 2016—my pilgrimage to Wales, packing up my house, and entering Mount St. Scholastica as a postulant—I have plenty to write about in my cards this year!

As we draw closer to the celebration of Christmas, the Mount mail cart brims each day with the Good News being sent from Atchison to all the world. This year I’m grateful to add my cards to the pile.

Rejoice and Be Glad

As I explained in my final Psalms class this week, Psalm 16 is my current favorite for a number of reasons, with the final lines providing a wonderful Advent anthem: “You show me the road to life: boundless joy at your side forever!” Advent is a joyful time, as reflected in many of the Scripture passages we read and chant during this season of anticipation. Just this morning, our Invitatory chant observed, “The heart that hears good news will be full of joy,” and the Benedictus antiphon proclaimed, “Rejoice and be glad; your Savior is near.”

That spirit of joyfulness is spilling over at the Mount, especially in the decking of halls and walls, windows and work spaces, nooks and niches, creches and crevices … you’d best not stand still too long, or you’ll end up with a belt of garland around your waist or tinsel in your hair! Every day a new wreath or string of popcorn or poinsettia mysteriously appears to awaken our senses and instill a spirit of gladness that Emmanuel, God with us, shows us the road to life and is at our side forever.

Even so, Advent continues to be a time of waiting. Although every branch of the tree in our dining room is festooned with ornaments, the lights that will really make it sparkle won’t be turned on until Christmas eve. For another week, we will pray, “Give light to those who sit in darkness, and guide our feet into the way of peace.” In the midst of our festive preparations, we—and our Christmas tree—recall the ancient Advent message: “The coming of the Lord is near. Stand firm and wait for him in patience.”

Balancing Service and Solitude

In the past several community life meetings at the Mount, we have been discussing how to balance our needs for quiet spaces and privacy with our desire to be hospitable to our guests. This holy tension feels very familiar to me, because we grappled with the same issue when I was on the staff at Shantivanam House of Prayer. However, I believe it is a concern of all Christians who recognize the call to serve and yet need time for personal prayer and re-creation. Although Jesus called us to serve one another, he also showed us how to stay healthy while doing so, for he himself sought solitude at times and enjoyed getaways to Bethany to be with his friends.

My reflection about reconciling the pull of relationship and the desire for solitude led me to write the following poem. As you will see, God has the final say in the matter.

                                          Quantum Theology

                                          Quarks demonstrate in a compelling and exquisite way

                                                   that life in our universe thrives not on isolationism

                                                   but on the capacity to relate.—Diamuid O'Murchu

                                          All I want to do is live by myself

                                          in a cabin in the woods

                                          in exquisite silence,

                                          yet the subatomic particles

                                          that make up my body

                                          and the entire universe

                                          insist on grouping

                                          in twos and threes,

                                          echoing the Creator

                                          whose essence is

                                          revealed in relationship,

                                          so like the desert fathers

                                          and mothers I resign myself

                                          to living in community—

                                          but at least we have a lake

                                          house, a retreat for

                                          the would-be hermits

                                          whose dreams of solitude

                                          are dashed by quantum

                                          physics and a God who loves.

Knocking at the Monastery Door

Every day at the beginning of morning prayer at the Mount, the prioress reads aloud a portion of the Rule of St. Benedict. Yesterday, she read from Chapter 58 about the procedure for receiving new members. It is noted that newcomers should not be granted an easy entry to the monastic life; they must knock at the door four to five days to show patience before being granted entry, then spend two months in the novitiate, “be clearly told all the hardships and difficulties that will lead to God,” listen to the Rule read in its entirety, “again be thoroughly tested in all patience” for another six months, listen to the Rule again, wait another four months, and listen to the Rule yet again before being received as a member of the community, which entails prostrating oneself at the feet of each monk to ask her prayers. My initial response to hearing this reading was, “I’m out of here!”

Fortunately, I did not have to stand outside the front door of the Mount and knock for four to five days before being admitted as a postulant. However, I did enter into a lengthy period of discernment and completed an extensive application process, thus entering the training ground of listening, patience, and humility required for life in community.

On Saturday evening, we ritually welcomed a new member to the Mount—Sr. Patricia Gamgort, who transferred her vows from another monastery. Although Sr. Patricia has been a Benedictine for 60 years, she too underwent a period of discernment and waiting before officially becoming a member of Mt. St. Scholastica. Making any type of vowed commitment is not to be done lightly and is cause for great celebration. I’m grateful for Sr. Patricia’s witness to the value of continually being formed. As someone just starting on the monastic path, I’m also encouraged to see the fruits of listening, patience, and humility that come from faithfully following the Benedictine way of life.

Advent's Flow

Life requires water. We all know this; at some point in science class, we learned that the average adult human body is 50% to 65% water (averaging around 57% to 60%), and that we can only live about three to four days—a week, tops—without drinking water. It is no wonder that in the earliest myths of humans, creation comes out of the waters.

However, as with everything, too much water isn’t a good thing. In Genesis 1, we learn that waters covered the earth, and God had to gather the water under the sky into a basin so that dry land could appear. At present, about 71% of earth’s surface is covered by water.

I've been thinking about this need for moderation, even when it comes to that which brings life, during Advent. At the Mount, activities abound as we prepare to celebrate the Nativity—cookie baking, decorating, community outreach projects, special dinners for employees and volunteers, and outings with our living groups, for example. On the other hand, Advent calls us to “be still and know that I am God.” It seems like an ideal time to practice moderation in all things, because with too much activity, we can become overtired and lose our center, yet with too much prayer, we can miss out on opportunities to encounter Christ in others.

Just as some people’s bodies are 50% water and others are 65% water, we each need to find our own ideal ratio of Advent action and contemplation. Most importantly, whether we are baking or decorating, chanting or meditating on Advent texts, may we invite Christ, the water of life, to flow through our prayer and service.

Singing a New Song

In my Psalms class these past several months, I’ve learned that the psalmists use repetition when they want to emphasize an important point. For example, many of the psalms repeatedly insist that we “sing a new song unto the Lord.” Clearly it’s important that the song we sing be new, but why? We already have a great many perfectly good songs—why not sing them?

As Sr. Mary Irene pointed out, perhaps the psalmists are continually prompting us to sing new songs because God is continually working new wonders in our lives. Every day, then, calls for a new song because every day brings a new reason to praise and thank God. If on any particular day we don’t see a reason to sing a new song, it’s not that God hasn’t done anything new but that we don’t have the eyes to see it. As Tecumseh said, “When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food, and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies with yourself.”

Although old beloved songs will always have a place in our liturgies because they are beautiful and link us to our tradition, the use of new music is a sign of a thriving community. This week at the Mount we are learning a new hymn because on Saturday night, we will ritualize the official transfer of Sr. Patricia Gamgort to our monastic community. Life will now be different for Sr. Patricia, and for us, and so we sing a new song. Thanks be to God, who continually calls us to new life in the Spirit!

The Heart of Advent

Today is my 4-month anniversary at the Mount. Combined with the previous affiliate year, it’s been a time of intense introspection and discernment. Although the process has been good and necessary, it also feels like I’m dwelling too much on my own needs, thoughts, desires, and struggles to the exclusion of being attentive to others. When I confessed this self-absorption at our reconciliation service last Thursday, Fr. Benjamin offered a useful image: the need to enlarge my heart.

The entire season of Advent is really about enlarging our hearts to grasp the concept that God did not come to us as we would expect, as a mighty warrior in a blaze of glory and retribution, but as a human born in impoverished circumstances who would shortly, with his parents, flee violence and become a refugee for a time. After a lifetime of keeping Advent, for me, anyway, it seems I need to keep asking: Is my heart big enough to see Christ in the poor, in immigrants, in all those who challenge my narrow perceptions of who God is and where God dwells?

Each year Advent provides the opportunity to measure the size of our hearts and engage in a “cardio” program to strengthen our spiritual heart health. By the dawning of Christmas day, may we—like Dr. Seuss’ Grinch, who learned that Christmas is much more than decorating with fliffer bloofs and buying electro whocarnio flooks and eating roast beast—find that our heart has grown into a more expansive understanding of Emmanuel, God with us.

The Advent of a Cold

Advent is a great liturgical season for introverts, with its introspective music and call to go within to prepare one’s heart to celebrate the coming of Christ into the world. That’s probably why it has always been the liturgical season that speaks most deeply to me. I was especially looking forward to my first Advent at the Mount because of the richness of the music and prayer here. Imagine my dismay, then, when I became afflicted with a cold on the first Sunday of Advent!

I am particularly feeling the temporary loss of my ability to sing and chant because of my cold. Silent prayer just doesn’t seem to resonate as deeply as prayer that is intoned. As I learned in Sr. Mary Irene’s Psalms class, the Hebrew word for “soul” that is often used in the psalms is “nephesh,” which is also translated as “throat.” When our throat closes up, we lose the ability to breathe and to praise/beseech God, and so the throat is directly related to the soul. Therefore, it appears that this first week of Advent I should be directing my prayers to St. Blaise of Sebaste, protector of throats!

The other loss I am feeling because of my cold is the ability to extend the sign of peace to others at mass. I was especially feeling bad about that when we had mass at the Catholic Callout at the prison Wednesday night; however, one of the inmates took the initiative to bump elbows with me instead of shaking hands, which allowed us to extend peace to each other without exchanging germs. The Spirit is certainly ingenious when it comes to generating peace and connections between people.

Ultimately, having a cold this first week of Advent has provided its own lessons. It has heightened my appreciation for the gifts of my voice and of being with people who value connecting with each other and living in peace. It has prompted me to practice stillness, which is an Advent call that is often difficult to implement. Truly, “all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to God’s purpose”—even when it comes to having a head cold.